Dorm Room Chronicles
by WhatBecomesOfYou
Summary: In their freshman year of college, Kurt Hummel and Marshall Gregson end up as roommates. One year, two people - the possibilities are endless. Eventual Kurt/Marshall.
1. September Part 1: Moving In: Kurt

Kurt looked down at the sheet of paper he held in his hands, and then looked up at the building he was standing in front of. "Home sweet home," he muttered, motioning to his father to follow him, a pile of boxes on a rental hand truck in tow. It was warm in southern California – not too warm as to where he was suffocating, but it was warm enough to make him slightly miserable. He'd have to scope out the shower situation once he got settled, as well as finding some place good to shop for more suitable clothing. Getting his room scoped out and having his father back on the road to the airport though would be his first two priorities.

As his father pulled the hand truck through the hallways, Kurt glanced around, taking in the different people that were milling about. There were definitely a good variety of people that would be living in close proximity to him – all sizes and shapes and hair colors, probably sexualities as well. Back home, there wasn't a lot in the way of diversity – and somehow, everyone who would be considered "diverse" in Lima terms ended up in glee club with him at _some_ point during high school. He gave a wane smile to a girl with a purple Mohawk, and continued searching for room 526.

"Here we are," his father said, brushing sweat off his forehead. "You _did_ say this was your room number, right?"

The little placard on the wall next to the door, blue with white lettering, read 526. "This would be the right place," Kurt said, pushing open the door with his palm. "Anyone there?"

"We're right in here, being busy little worker bees!" a blonde woman said, tearing through a cardboard box, possessed by a desire to search for…_something_. "Come, come right in!"

Kurt raised an eyebrow, and his father nudged him forward. Leaning against the desk on the opposite side of the room was a tall man – he presumed it was his roommate's father, and sitting on one of the beds was a boy about his age. This must be the new roommate. He did an once-over. Not bad looking, but could _definitely _use a makeover. Hopefully he wasn't too attached to that tie he was wearing, because if he had anything to say about it, the next time that tie would be seen in public would be at a _funeral_.

"I'm Marshall," the boy said, sticking out his hand. "And you're…"

"Kurt," Kurt said, shaking his hand. This was definitely going to be an interesting semester. His roommate wore _ties_, shook hands, and looked like a lost boy from a boarding school. No matter. He had tolerated Rachel Berry all through school – he could tolerate living with this Marshall person for one school year.

* * *

After the parents left a few hours later, Kurt flopped back onto his bed, groaning at the lumpy mattress – he was going to have to learn to adjust. Marshall's mother – who had introduced herself as Alice – had _insisted_ on making both Marshall _and_ Kurt's beds for them, much as Kurt had protested. He had been making his own bed for as long as he could remember, but there was something about having her offer it that weakened his defenses, until finally he had agreed. She seemed a little _too_ thrilled about it, which Kurt chalked up to anxiety. Marshall was sitting on his bed – he got the bed with the window, due to the simple fact that the early bird gets the worm, and Marshall had gotten there before Kurt.

"So, you said you're from Ohio?" Marshall said, looking up from the course catalog.

"Yeah, town called Lima, no one's ever heard of it before," Kurt said, fluffing his pillow below his head. "Not much to say about it, really."

"Yeah," Marshall replied, turning the page over and dashing his highlighter across the page. "I know that feeling. Kansas, myself."

"Oh."

The room was silent as Marshall flicked through the catalog, highlighting courses to look at, and Kurt closed his eyes to block out the glare of Marshall's desk light. "Your mother seemed nice."

"She's normally not like that, I promise."

"I didn't _have _a mother growing up," Kurt said sharply, under his breath. Marshall didn't react – Kurt wasn't sure if he had even heard him or not. Turning over and facing the wall, he allowed his fatigue to take over, and fell asleep before he realized he was asleep.

* * *

In the excitement of starting college and the freedom that it entailed – especially for Marshall and Kurt, being far from home – the freshmen orientation passed in a blur of forced group activities. Through it, Kurt learned that Marshall was an aspiring filmmaker, and Marshall learned that Kurt didn't have any plans in particular, major-wise, except that he would be auditioning for Voces, the college's choral group. The first common ground, other than how far they both were from all of their loved ones, had been found.

The second common ground came a few days later, as they sat on their beds with fajitas from a nearby Mexican takeout restaurant, poring over their class schedules. "Did you end up in 19th Century American History with Meijer?" Marshall asked, taking a bite out of his fajita and dabbing at his chin with a napkin as he felt sauce dribble down.

"No, I'm not taking history this semester," Kurt said, sipping his mineral water and tracing his finger down the page. "What about Short Stories with Werner?"

"On Tuesdays and Thursdays?"

"Yeah."

"I guess," Marshall said after pausing for a moment to allow another bite of fajita to be swallowed. "We're classmates."

* * *

"This," a wiry older man with glasses said, walking across the room and pointing at the blackboard at the same time, "is _Short Stories_. I'm Professor Werner, and _you_ are my captive audience until December." Most of the class let out a chorus of nervous laughter, Marshall instead nibbled on the tip of his eraser.

As the professor launched into a long-winded spiel about which stories they'd be analyzing over the course of the semester, Kurt cast a glance to Marshall, who was hunched over his notebook and scrawling notes in the margins of his syllabus. He _had_ been planning to make a quip about the professor and his elocution style, but it seemed as though Marshall was one of those people who was perfectly content to sit back and respect the professors. Opportunity missed.

He settled down into his chair, scrawling notes of his own. But instead of addendums on the grading scale or the adjusted office hours, the notes were more aimed at how to live with someone who was, although they were sliding closer and closer together on the commonality scale, nearly his polar opposite. Or so he thought.

-_to be continued_-


	2. September Part 2: Shopping: Marshall

Marshall was, to be honest, not entirely sure he liked his new roommate. It wasn't that he was homesick and craving the comfort of his own bed or endless discussions with his sister, the professional waitress. Or, alternately, it wasn't that he was a good two thousand miles from home, in a state that he had previously only seen on television shows and in the newspaper, usually accompanied by the words "earthquake" or "forest fire." It was that Kurt seemed so _different_ from the people he had known in high school, albeit a nice enough person. Not that he, himself, wouldn't be classified as "different"; his affinity for dressing like he came out of his father's closet _did_ tend to stand out in suburban Kansas. But the clothes that Kurt wore, Marshall was _fairly_ certain were clothes entirely too far out of his price range.

At least as far as roommates went, Kurt wasn't as bad as some of the horror stories he was hearing from his other friends. Kurt hadn't brought back a girl to have sex with in Marshall's bed; Kurt wasn't borrowing Marshall's shampoo; Kurt wasn't leaving moldy bowls of food around the room, nor was he running up and down the hallway making monkey noises – all things that his friends were having to put up with at that very moment. In fact, Kurt was downright tidy, and other than his vocal warm-ups, he was basically a quiet person with a particular affinity for show tunes playing on the computer. He knew that in the hierarchy of roommates, he could be doing a _lot_ worse.

He glanced at his watch and continued reading his history textbook – he had to have two chapters read for the next morning's class, and Kurt would be back any moment now from receiving the results of the final callback for Voces. Either he would call for a celebration and would be out until late, or he would just want to be alone in their room, banishing Marshall and his laptop to the nearest coffee shop with Wi-Fi.

A short time later, he closed his textbook and shoved it away from him. He leaned back in the chair and tilted his head back, just as Kurt walked in the door and closed it. "Hey," Marshall said, sitting up and turning around to face him. "How did the results go?"

Kurt looked over at Marshall. "I'm an _alternate_."

"What? Why? I thought you were a shoo-in, you sounded great when you were practicing in here! And you said that your high school glee club went to nationals, didn't you?"

"Yeah, we did," Kurt said. "But this was a '_strong year for male voices_' and '_they wish they had spots for everyone_.'" Marshall could sense a mixture of bitterness and disappointment. He was a little disappointed himself, for Kurt's sake.

"So what does being an alternate _mean_, exactly?"

"If anyone drops out or doesn't accept their spot, they'll move down the list until they fill that spot."

"And you could get it."

"Or they could give it to someone without any musical training at _all_ who just happens to be the director's _beloved _nephew."

Marshall turned back to his desk and began inching the laptop out from against the wall. He sensed that any moment now, Kurt would ask him to leave. He mentally plotted out his coffee order – and prayed that the cute blond barista was working today.

"What are you _doing_?" Kurt asked.

"I figured you'd want some alone time, so I'll be down at Campus Coffee if you need me," Marshall said, holding up his laptop as to prove a point.

Kurt shook his head. "Uh-_uh_. Not a chance." He walked over to Marshall, took his laptop from his hands, and placed it gently back on the desk. "You and I are going to go take part in a little thing called _shopping_."

"_Shopping_?" Marshall asked, raising an eyebrow. It wasn't that he was unfamiliar with the concept of shopping. Not in the slightest, not when Kate and T had a nasty little habit of running the family's credit cards up to their limit whenever the slightest little thing went wrong for _anyone, _anywhere. He couldn't quite recall the last excuse they had come up with, but he thought it had something to do with a tornado in Alabama. He had even gone shopping a few times, though most of the time it bored him. There wasn't much going for him, and he could have his mother pick up a new shirt or two when she stopped by Nordstrom's if he needed them.

"They don't have shopping in Kansas?" Kurt asked, seemingly slightly confused by the question.

Marshall let out a laugh. "No, we have shopping in Kansas. I just never did it, unless I was forced to."

"Oh, then _you_ are missing _out_!" Kurt said, a nearly maniacal glint in his eyes, taking Marshall by the hand and dragging him toward the door. "Come on, let's go. It's time to show you that shopping can be _fun_."

* * *

A few hours and a few hundred dollars later, Kurt and Marshall walked out of the last boutique on the road and headed back toward campus. "Wasn't that _fun_?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah," Marshall said, watching as a group of students walked past them. "You really _didn't_ have to pay for that shirt I got though."

"Forget about it," Kurt said, waving his hand dismissively. "It's nothing."

"It was _seventy-five dollars_. That's _not_ 'nothing!'"

"It's a _quality_ shirt. It'll last you a long time, and besides: you looked _good_ in it."

Marshall blushed. "Thanks, Kurt."

"For the shirt or for saying you looked good?"

"Both."

As they walked back to campus, the topic of conversation diverted to a much more neutral topic, Marshall glanced over at Kurt. Sure, maybe the guy liked his show tunes – _a lot_. And there was something about him that Marshall couldn't quite put his finger on.

But at least he wasn't bringing girls back to the room. That was _definitely_ a step in the right direction.

-_to be continued_-

* * *

**Author's Note**: _I hope everyone has enjoyed the first two chapters! Updates will be roughly every other week, depending on my real life schedule. Coming in the "October" chapters: YouTube leads to Marshall and Kurt each making a revelation of their own, and one of the former New Directions members drops in for a visit._


	3. October Part 1: Mercedes: Kurt

**Author's Note**: _Yes, I know it's been nearly two months since an update. Yes, this story is still being updated. This chapter literally sat half-finished on my hard drive for a month. Dedicated to all my reviewers, who make writing this all worthwhile._

* * *

Kurt glanced up from his notebook, and looked at the clock hanging on the wall. 5:56 pm. Four minutes until her plane was supposed to land. He'd checked the airline's website once or twice since he got back from class, and it was still on schedule.

It would be nice to have a friend come and visit. He had kept in touch via e-mail with a few of them, but tonight would be the first time since leaving home that he would actually _see_ any of them.

Of course, she wasn't _actually_ coming out all the way out here in October to see him. More like, her cousin Desiree was getting married that weekend and it just so happened that she lived three towns over.

In other words, Mercedes would be spending quite a bit of time, when not being forced into wedding-related shenanigans, with him, and by extension, Marshall, who was off randomly filming people at the campus quad. It was for film class, or so he claimed. If it made the guy happy, so be it.

He slammed down his pen and flipped his notebook shut. There was _no way_ he was getting any class work done tonight, or any night until Mercedes was back in Ohio.

The phone rang. "I made it," she said, and he could tell she sounded relieved. Then, again, he didn't think she had flown too many times before, if he remembered her panic attack from junior year correctly, and she was probably relieved to be safely on the ground. "I'll see you tomorrow? And I want to meet this Marshall you've been talking about."

* * *

It took Kurt quite a bit of convincing later that night to get Marshall to agree to the meeting. "_Kurt_," Marshall said, glancing at the imposing stack of textbooks, "why should I meet your high school friends?"

"Because she _asked_, and besides, you'd like her," Kurt said, "she's a lot like me."

"In what way?" Marshall asked.

"We were in glee club together in high school, and she's the most fashion-obsessed person I know," Kurt said, "well, besides myself."

Marshall sighed. "You're not going to let her trip here go by without me spending at least a _little_ time with her, are you?"

"No."

"_Fine_ then," he said, "I'll meet her. But _only_ if it gets you to stop pestering me."

* * *

The next night, they went to a crowded campus restaurant, and Kurt spotted someone familiar sitting at a table. "Mercedes!" he exclaimed, and the two of them hugged tightly. Marshall stood back. "Mercedes, this is my roommate, Marshall. Marshall, this is my best friend, Mercedes," he said, introducing the two.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mercedes," Marshall said, sticking his hand out for a handshake.

"_Nuh-uh_," she said, shaking her head and pulling him in for a hug. "I don't do that shaking hands thing."

"Okay, then," he said, and Kurt realized that maybe Marshall and Mercedes were too different to be compatible.

* * *

Kurt didn't mind the thought of being in the middle of three people, but at dinner that night, it was positively awkward. Every time Mercedes or Marshall would speak, it would be redirected through him.

It was almost as though he was having two separate dinner conversations.

Maybe it had been a mistake. No, not maybe. It was a complete mistake, not quite a disaster though.

Live and learn, Kurt Hummel, live and learn.

* * *

Kurt and Mercedes talked in his dorm room later that night – Marshall had, conveniently enough, decided, after dinner, that tonight would be the night that he would spend studying in the library, which enabled the two best friends to talk privately.

"Kurt, your roommate –"

"He's a little old-fashioned, I know. He was wearing _ties_ at the beginning of the year."

"_Seriously_? Damn, Kurt, you need to loosen him up."

"I took him shopping."

"And, did you make him look _fabulous_ and tonight was the one night he wasn't?"

Kurt shook his head. "He still prefers his clothes."

"You need to get the _message_ through to him, Kurt. Because he's _into_ you."

"He's not – wait, _what_?"

"It's written all over his face, Kurt, if you'd _look_ at him."

"He's _not_ gay, Mercedes."

"If he's not gay, I'm the _Queen of England_. And she doesn't have my sense of flair, so you _know_ that's not true."

"She only _wishes _she could be as fabulous as you."

They diverted to the topic of Desiree's wedding after that, but Kurt still mused over what Mercedes had said. It wasn't as though Marshall had expressed interest in anyone, or really,_ anything_, since they had been living together. As far as he had been concerned, Marshall was basically non-sexual.

Flat-out asking him wouldn't work. They weren't _that_ close. Gravitating toward a mutual co-existence, and the occasional grab-two-coffees-and-run deal, not to mention the shopping trip, sure, but _close_? Not yet, he didn't think.

It'd be something to think about.

-_to be continued_-


	4. October Part 2: Confessions: Marshall

Marshall could be described with many adjectives. Cautious, analytical, self-aware – people had called him all of those in the past, and others as well. The one _no one_ had ever used for him, however, was forgetful - unless he had forgotten they called him that, and _that _was highly unlikely.

Until one day, in the middle of the trimester, when he ran out of the room quickly – too quickly, leaving his browser window open on his computer screen. If he didn't get moving, he would be late for class, and being late for class was the last thing he'd want to do.

It was the furthest thing from his mind, _really_, until he came back from class.

And Kurt was sitting in the computer chair – _his_ computer chair, come to think of it – and he heard a video playing, a familiar male laugh coming from the speakers – and the expression on Kurt's face was one of subdued surprise.

"What is this?" his roommate asked, and Marshall felt as though maybe, just _maybe_, it was possible to die of embarrassment at that very moment.

Instead, he hit the floor.

_The ceiling shouldn't be moving_, he thought, _so why is it?_ He sat up with a start. No. The ceiling wasn't moving; it was his wobbly self creating the illusion of movement.

Kurt leaned over the back of the computer chair and looked at Marshall. "Did you hurt your head?" he asked.

"No," Marshall said, "I'll be fine." Standing up slowly, he took the bottle of Tylenol out from his window hiding place and popped two.

"I thought you said 'I'll be fine,' not 'I need to take painkillers,'" Kurt said.

Marshall winced. "I said, 'I _will_ be fine,' not 'I am currently, _at this very moment_, fine.'"

Kurt waved his hand. "Same difference. So who's the guy in your YouTube videos?"

"I hit my head, and you want to know who a guy in videos from _four years ago_ is."

"As you insisted, you'll be fine."

Somehow, he figured that using former – though current, at the time – boyfriends in his videos wouldn't hurt him. He eased himself onto the foot of his bed and looked at Kurt. "He is - was - is? my former boyfriend."

Kurt nodded, almost in understanding. "So, you're gay."

"I didn't want to do the whole '_your-roommate-is-gay_' spiel and make you uncomfortable."

"Make me uncomfortable?"

"Because, you know -"

Kurt laughed quietly, almost as though he was recollecting some distant memory. "I'm gay too."

"_Oh_." Marshall laid down and closed his eyes, sending out a silent thought that he hoped a short nap would ease the throbbing headache that had settled in squarely behind his eyes. He wasn't sure, however, if the headache was caused by his fall, or something else entirely.

* * *

When he woke up, the sun was beginning to set outside, and Kurt was nowhere to be seen, except for a green post-it note stuck to his computer screen. "_M. - went out for dinner, be back later, take more Tylenol_ - _K._" Beneath the screen was a small cup of water, two Tylenol, and a small white square, that upon further examination, appeared to be a small pre-moistened washcloth.

He rubbed his forehead and hoped for some sort of quick answer to come. It had _not_ been intentional for Kurt to find out about Jason. It was a stupid, careless mistake.

He reloaded his YouTube user profile and clicked on the top video, the last one he had uploaded before leaving for California. He'd watched it a thousand times since - not because he was still in love with the boy in the video, but because it reminded him of what he had left behind back home.

* * *

_It was a warm summer's day a few years before, not a cloud in the sky. In the distance, an ice cream truck's melody played faintly and the sounds of children playing soccer in the street could be heard, but Marshall was only focused on the person in front of him._

"_Smile for the camera!" he said, and Jason grinned - a wide, toothy grin - and waved for the camera, before tugging it out of Marshall's hands and letting the impulses of their youth take over._

_

* * *

_

After the breakup, Marshall kept the video hidden away under his bed, over time forgetting that it was even there. It wasn't until he was packing his things to head off to college that he found the shoe box it had been hidden in, and after a quick debate - "should I keep it?" "should I throw it away?" - he decided to upload it, but keep it private, so his subscribers wouldn't find it.

No one else needed to see it. No one else would understand the meaning.

He shut his laptop, laid back down on his bed, with his arms crossed across his chest, and waited for Kurt to come back from dinner.

* * *

"Feeling better?" a voice from above him said.

Marshall opened his eyes and looked up to see Kurt hovering above him, an unreadable expression on his face. "Yeah. I'm fine," he said, with a small smile.

Everything would be fine, he was sure of that. For now, at least until some other incident happened where they'd have to face the events of the day.

As the calendar hanging precariously on the wall clearly showed, however, Halloween was quickly approaching. Kurt's careful handwriting indicated that there was a Halloween masquerade party that both of them had been invited to, weeks before.

-_to be continued_-


	5. Halloween: Masquerade

**Author's Note**_: Song lyrics from "Masquerade" from the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack. Mild spoilers for Glee season 2 (specifically "Never Been Kissed.")_

_Many thanks to my beta who helped work out the issues with this chapter that prevented it from being finished for so long. You're amazing, and this wouldn't be half as good without you._

* * *

_...masquerade, paper faces on parade, masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you..._

Kurt adjusted the black mask over his face and glanced side-long into the mirror. "Perfect," he whispered. This would be the first night in far too long, probably since he left Ohio, that he would be able to let his hair down - metaphorically, of course - and really be able to let loose. The mask he had chosen for the masquerade was ornate and had feathers and gold beadwork stitched along the edges; in other words, it was perfect for him.

He planned to live it up, have a little fun, forget about everything else for the night. It was Halloween, he was still young, and nothing could bring him down.

* * *

Marshall flicked through the sparse selection of masks at the local party store after class that day. He'd been so frantically working on a psychology essay the past week that he had basically forgotten that he and Kurt were invited to this masquerade anyway, until that morning.

"_Did you buy your mask yet?" Kurt asked non-chalantly, painstakingly combing his hair into a neat part. "It's tonight."_

_Marshall let out a groan. "No, I **forgot**," he said, "I'll go after class."_

And there it was, hanging on a hook by itself: it wasn't the absolutely most perfect mask, but it would do nicely. It was white with gold and black detailing and a long, pointed nose. He looked down at his watch and muttered under his breath, "shit." It started in half an hour and there was _no_ way he was going to make it on time, especially not if he swung by the room to change and drop off his books first.

What was that saying about being fashionably late, again?

* * *

Kurt tapped his foot and waited impatiently. "It starts in twenty minutes, Marshall," he said under his breath, "if we're going to walk over together, we need to leave _now_."

Ten minutes later, he walked out the door in a huff.

* * *

Glittery streamers hung down from the ceiling, and sheets hung over the walls, masking what was, Marshall was pretty sure, a dingy gymnasium of some sort during the rest of the year. A DJ was clearly audible in the background. He nervously tugged his mask down over his face and walked into the fray of the party. Better late than never.

A girl in a feathery butterfly mask walked up next to him, and said, "Nice party, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," he said, "I haven't been here that long."

"You looking for anyone?"

It was hard to hear her, now that he was in the actual party - the beats of the DJ's booth vibrated the floor. He paused for a moment. A part of him wanted to find Kurt and knock back cups of possibly-spiked punch while snarking about people's choice in masks - he'd already seen one or two monstrosities that he _knew_ Kurt would have a few choice words for - while another part just wanted to blend right into the scenery. "Not right now," he said, shaking his head back and forth.

"If you _want_," she said, leaning up close to him - so close he could smell her perfume and the faintest trace of alcohol on her breath - "my friends and I are over there." She gestured to a group of three or four girls, all wearing masks identical to hers in an array of different colors. "We'd _love_ to party with you."

"Sure!" he said, hoping that his voice wasn't too squeaky or fast, with how his nerves were racing, "I'll keep that in mind."

"Ciao!" As he walked away from her, making a beeline to the complete opposite side of the room, he could see her blow him a kiss from the corner of his vision. There was no way he was going to take her up on her offer. He leaned against a wall and surveyed the party.

What happened tonight, under the cover of the masks, wouldn't have any repercussions come morning.

He made his way out onto the dance floor.

* * *

Kurt wiped his brow with the back of his hand and made his way off the dance floor, in search of a drink. He was unsure of what time it was, although he was fairly sure that at least a few hours had passed since the last time he'd taken a break. He'd forgotten how exhilarating it was to throw himself into the whirlwind of excitement.

He sipped at a cup of weak beer - at least he knew what it was - and observed the pulsating crowd on the dance floor. There were masks of every shade and shape. If he didn't see another half-mask again, though, it may be too soon - just because it was a masquerade didn't mean that everyone and their sister had to channel their inner Opera Ghost.

One dancer caught his eye. He wasn't the most agile dancer out there - far from it, in fact, a little goofy and a little out of coordination. But there was something about how his feet moved to the beat of the ridiculous dance song playing that made him do a double - and then triple - take.

He threw out the remainder of his drink and made his way back onto the dance floor, forcing all of his confidence to show through in his movements and gestures.

It was time to see what kind of moves this other guy had.

* * *

Marshall was pretty sure that if anyone in his family had _ever_ had any sort of dancing genes, they'd skipped right over him. He hung on the peripheral edge of the throbbing, swirling mass, keeping beat in his own way. He glanced up momentarily, to see another person beginning to encroach on his zone - the guy extended his hand, with a warm smile - this was not normal, people didn't just expect him to dance with them. Especially ones that looked nice and normal and not psychotic - and from what he could tell, good-looking on top of it all.

When he still hadn't gone away after an awkward minute or two, Marshall slowly adjusted his dance to allow for his new partner. The songs stayed on the dance music they had been playing all night, but as they melded together, Marshall realized that he couldn't hear the music anymore.

He'd never been particularly one to live in the moment, but this dance, this night - it felt almost cliche, but it almost felt as though they were the only two people there. And he didn't even know the guy's name, but he was one _hell_ of a dancer.

All Marshall wanted to do, in that moment, was act on a rash impulse he had. He leaned forward, meeting at the halfway point between the two, and hoped that his action would be understood. The other guy seemed to understand and leaned forward as well, and as Marshall moved in for the kiss, tilting his head to the side to avoid impaling anyone with a long mask nose, he felt blood rushing past his ears. They were past the point of no return now.

* * *

The kiss was brief - _tantalizingly_ brief, lips on lips, no tongues - and Kurt was feeling simultaneous feelings of enjoyment and fear. It wasn't so much that his mysterious dance partner had kissed him - after all, he'd kissed back, and enjoyed it - it was more that he couldn't shake, all these years later, what had transpired between him and Karofsky.

He stepped back and walked quickly across the dance floor. He needed fluorescent lights and cold water to the face. He didn't even turn around: he couldn't face what he had done.

* * *

Marshall stood thunderstruck in the middle of the room, the laughter and music of the other attendees floating above him, suffocating him. _Had he done something wrong_? He followed behind. There was _no_ way he was letting this night end without answers.

He pushed open the door to the men's restroom and saw the mask sitting on top of one of the sinks; the next thing he saw was Kurt splashing water on his face. "_Kurt_?" Marshall asked. Did this mean - it couldn't - he had - well, it _could_ be - but,_ Kurt_?

Kurt whipped around at the sound of the familiar voice, water dripping down his face. "Oh. _God_. _Marshall_." Kurt ran out of the restroom, leaving his mask sitting on the sink.

Marshall picked up the mask and tucked it under his arm. He couldn't leave it there.

* * *

A short time later, Marshall arrived back at the dorm room and slipped in. Kurt was sound asleep in his bed, sheets pulled up over his head and the faintest sound of snoring came from his side of the room. Marshall propped the mask up in front of Kurt's computer and jotted off a short note - "_you left this, thought you might want it back_" - before falling asleep in the clothes he'd worn that night.

The next morning, he awoke to find the mask resting on top of the trash in Kurt's trash can, the crumpled note beside it.

He pulled it out, smoothed out the ruffled feathers, and carefully, gently put it in the container of blankets his mother had given him - "just in case you get cold some night and don't have enough," she'd said, and he hadn't opened it once since he'd gotten there.

He wasn't giving up on Kurt. Not now.

-_to be continued_-


	6. November Part 1: Cold War: Marshall

**Author's Note**: _This fic isn't over until I either complete it or post in the summary/my profile that it's on hiatus/discontinued. Be patient with my spaced out updates, and it will be done one way or another eventually._

* * *

Marshall flipped over in bed, pressing the pillow around his head. It'd been almost a week since the masquerade - almost a week since he'd kissed someone who turned out to be his roommate. He thought he'd left behind all the dating and romance drama at home.

It was funny, he thought, if you had asked him before, if he ended up kissing Kurt - the whole series of "ifs" on an event that he never really imagined would ever happen - what Kurt's reaction would be in such an event, he would have imagined it more along the lines of standing in the middle of the quad and proclaiming it to anyone who would listen. There would be internet postings and text messages. "Extra, extra, read all about it: I kissed Marshall Gregson!"

Kurt had been oddly quiet though in the week since then. Maybe he had told a person or two - Marshall was unsure, although if anyone knew, it was probably his friend Mercedes - but otherwise, there had been a _distinct_ lack of response. At first it had been nice, albeit a little unnerving. It wasn't like he _wanted_ the showiness and flashiness. But as the days progressed, he wanted _some_ form of acknowledgment. Even a "you _suck_ at kissing and should go back to kissing a cardboard cutout of Robert Pattinson" would be better than this.

He turned his head and peered up. "Kurt?" he asked. He waited a moment for a reply, before getting out of bed. If he didn't leave now, he'd be late for class.

He was all alone in their room.

* * *

Later that evening, he came back from a psychology study session - they had a midterm coming up over the social aspects of psychology, and the part about the theory of interpersonal attraction was at the forefront of his mind. It was only fitting, of course.

They lived as close as two people could, without sharing a bed. They were similar in how they saw the world, although they approached it from different angles. They weren't super close, although they had been going down that road before the masquerade, but they _had_ come out to each other; that was a step in the right direction. And there was no denying that Kurt was a _very_ attractive guy.

Everything fit, at least from his side of things.

He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. The overhead light was off - the only source of light was coming from Kurt's side of the computer desk. "Marshall," Kurt's voice said, even and low, "close the door."

Marshall closed the door and eased onto his bed, throwing his messenger bag over his pillow. "What do you want?" he asked. "We haven't spoken in a week, and _now_ you're choosing to defrost the Cold War?"

"Yes, _Khrushchev_. Now, do you want to talk, or do you want to continue arguing over our perceived household appliances?" Kurt asked, turning around in the chair and looking at Marshall.

"Someone's been Skype studying with Mercedes _way_ too long."

"Says the person who's been at the library since his last class got out."

"At least I'm not talking like a psychologist because of it," he said, rifling through his bag and frowning. "I think I left my textbook in the library. I should go get it."

"It's right there," Kurt said, pointing at Marshall's pillow. "Why are you avoiding talking to me?"

"That's _rich_," Marshall replied with a snort. "Coming from the person who has been flat-out ignoring me since Halloween night. I might as well have been living in a single."

"Did I ever tell you about my first real kiss? With a guy?"

Marshall turned to face Kurt and propped his chin on his pillow. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"This guy - he was on the hockey team - Karofsky - he bullied me constantly. Because I was too fabulous or something, I don't know. He kissed me one day in the locker room. Without me telling him it was okay - it wasn't -" he buried his head in his hands, and his back trembled slightly. "That was two - _two_ years ago - and - I dated a guy after that and we broke up right after I graduated - _but_ -"

"Because I didn't ask." And it was suddenly all so clear as to why Kurt had reacted the way he did. He could understand deep-seated psychological trauma - maybe it was even a form of PTSD - after all, it wasn't like his childhood had been the quiet idyll of _Leave it to Beaver_, or even the _Brady Bunch_. Hell, even _Modern Family_ would have been acceptable if it meant having Sofia Vergara and Eric Stonestreet for relatives. Instead, he got something that they'd probably never make a television show about. Families like his didn't fit into the mold provided by the _Partridge Family_ very easily.

"You didn't know," Kurt said quietly. "You didn't know, and I shouldn't have expected you to know." His voice dropped lower, and Marshall had to strain to hear the next few words. "I would have said yes."

"Even with me wearing a mask?"

"It was a _moment_," Kurt replied. "It was something like out of one of those movies where there's a guy and a girl - except it was two guys, which is _so much_ better - and they're dancing and - we shared a moment. I would have said yes."

Marshall frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You're not like him. You're about as malicious as a starving puppy. I - I know that you -" Kurt sighed and brushed a finger along the side of his desk. "You weren't meaning to hurt me."

"I did - didn't I?"

"You surprised me, 's all." When Marshall didn't reply, Kurt continued. "It was good. If I wouldn't -"

"Was it because it was me, or because it was anyone at all?" He skipped over the compliment couched in-between the two accusatory statements: the one that accused him, and the other that accused himself. There was nothing to it. A good kiss was one that your mother gave you, or that someone you weren't particularly attracted to - it wasn't great. Fantastic. All the words that would imply attraction and every other positive, romantic thing. Just because they're two gay guys doesn't mean they have to go out.

"Anyone? You? I don't know." He threw himself over the back of his chair and faced Marshall. "I haven't been kissed since Blaine and I - he's the only person since Karofsky - _I don't know_." He pursed his lips together and frowned. "I wanted it. That's the worst part."

"Why?"

"Because I -" He cut himself off and scooted the chair closer to Marshall's head. In the darkness of the room, Marshall could only see his silhouette and what few features he could make out with the assistance of the blue-ish computer light. "Because I -" He took his hand and placed it under Marshall's chin and propped it up. "Oh, screw this. Can I?"

A jolt of static electricity shot through Marshall's body at the movement and he looked back at Kurt. "Hmmm? Yeah, sure," he replied, a little confused at what he was saying yes to. If he woke up in the morning missing a kidney or with a biker tattoo on his bicep, this was going to be the moment he looked back on and realized where it all went askew.

And then Kurt leaned his face in and gently pressed his lips to Marshall's. It was similarly chaste to their first kiss, but Marshall felt Kurt's lips twitch into a smile. "Better than good?" Marshall asked with a laugh as they parted.

"Ask me again later." As their lips met for another kiss, and then another, Marshall realized one thing: it wasn't about him. It was about Kurt wanting all the control he rarely had before. Funny how they were alike in that way.

-_to be continued_-


End file.
